In came the doctor, in came the nurse...

So the Mud Puddle had his tonsils and adenoids out last week, and he has seemingly bounced right back; I, on the other hand need a vacation or at least some convalescing of my own to recover from THAT whole ordeal.

It is exhausting to try and keep a brave face on, manage the Mud Puddles needs, and not hover all at the same time. For each time I said “stop running” (he was supposed to be quiet during his recovery) he would say “stop looking at me”. I couldn’t help it; I was in full blown concerned mommy mode. I was really afraid he would be in pain, uncomfortable or would rip something that needed to heal.

The hardest part for me was going with him into the operating room. It was so bright, filled with all kinds of shiny equipment, everyone was wearing masks. I can just imagine what was going through his mind. He kept saying to me “I don’t want to be here, take me somewhere else. I want to go back to the other room.” And if I could have, I would have snatched him off that gurney and ran. But I couldn’t.

He cried, and wailed and clung to my neck. The Anesthesiologist put the mask over his face and told me it was good thing that he was crying because it mean he was getting more of the gas into his lungs (those deep heaving sobs came in handy) and he was quickly out like a light. I waited until I was outside the operating suite to let my tears flow. I felt so bad to have not been able to answer his pleas but tried to remember I was doing the right thing.

After about 30 minutes of mental hand ringing and second counting, the doctor came out to tell us all had gone well and we could go back and see him in a few minutes. Scott quickly told me he would hang back and let me go first so as not to be trampled in my sprint to reach the Mud Puddle’s side.

When we FINALLY got back to see him, he was still asleep. He remained sleeping for about 20 minutes which the nurses said was a good thing. He and I cuddled in a rocking chair and he drank the ice water and ate the popsicle he had to down before they would let him go home.

The next thing I know he has barfed all over himself, Elly (his beloved elephant blanket) and me – it was the most disgusting puke I have ever seen (and believe me I am a puke connoisseur) but according to the nurses it was a good thing. Really? It looked the opposite of good to me. It was apparently all that had fallen down his throat during the surgery (I will not go into more detail than THAT).

The sense of good in the tonsil removal world is clearly a much different beast then in my world. So he puked two more times – less disgusting with each go – and spent the remainder of the day sacked out on the couch watching tv and drinking water and juice.

About five hours post-op he returned to the bouncing, skipping happy little boy he had been pre-surgery. The only problem being he was supposed to rest - for a WEEK.

I did my best to control him and keep him quiet (yeah right, out of full blown screech mode was considered a success) and my parents were a HUGE help with taking care of him and giving him all the love and attention he needed and rightfully deserved.

He is back at daycare today and seems no worse for the wear – a little hoarse and skinnier (the kid was already a bean pole). I am glad it is all over and hope to have my first full night of sleep (Ambien induced and dreamless is the plan) tonight.